


Geralt Whump Week 2020

by LenaLawlipop



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt, Geralt Whump Week (The Witcher), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump, suicidal thoughts very briefly in chapter 6 only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenaLawlipop/pseuds/LenaLawlipop
Summary: Day 1 - OstracismDay 2  - PotionsDay 3 - CursedDay 4 - BetrayalDay 5 - LonelinessDay 6 - MonsterDay 7 - Kaer Morhen
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 125





	1. Ostracism

**Author's Note:**

> I'm late to post even though I had these written in time because... idk because I'm a disaster ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Enjoy the suffering!

****

#  **Day 1 - Ostracism**

It's been a fortnight, and the bruises from the stones they'd thrown at him have long since faded. His skin, otherwise marred with scars, doesn't seem to have retained a single mark from that day, and yet, wherever he goes it seems everyone has heard about Blaviken.

_Butcher!_

The Butcher of Blaviken. 

Geralt closes his eyes, lets Roach carry them both ahead for a moment, grateful for the solitude of the Path. He used to resent it, he still does from time to time. But it's in moments like these when he realizes why he must walk alone. He can't imagine involving anyone else in _his_ Path, much less a human. Witchers hunt alone, and anyway, even if he doesn't think of the Path, subjecting others to his misfortunes feels... wrong.

Perhaps it's because his eyes are still closed, or perhaps because he's basking in the rich scents of earth, and rain, and _silence_ , but he doesn't notice night falling on him for a long time. It's only when he notices Roach's reluctance to keep going that he comes back to the present. He dismounts, murmuring apologies to her for keeping her walking for so long, and sets up camp with the last of daylight. He doesn't have enough time to start a fire, but with how wet everything is from the rain, he doubts he'd manage to get it to catch. He sees well enough in the darkness, anyway, so he moves his bedroll closer to Roach, and she magnanimously allows him to huddle close. He knows he'll smell of horse in the morning, even more so than usual he supposes, but he's not concerned. Roach is one of the very few things he doesn't mind the smell of, no matter how overpowering it may get. 

Roach doesn't stay still for long, however. She startles at some point during the night, waking up Geralt slowly, confusedly. He's not used to waking because of Roach, if anything he's usually able to hear threats approaching even before she does... _Not this time_ , is the last thing he thinks when he feels an arrow hit his side. He gasps, his mind going back to the pain of the stones before he even registers the blood slowly seeping into his clothes. He'd taken off his chest piece to sleep, and now...

There are voices nearby, and Geralt finally pieces together what's happening. These are people, he thinks. Probably from the town he was nearing before he stopped for the night. Humans...

He pretends to sag, waits until they're close enough to knock them out. They're... just people...

Roach neighs, worriedly as she scents his blood, but Geralt isn't too concerned. They don't have enough light to tend to an arrow wound, and it's not deep enough to warrant a potion, so he'll have to wait to pull it out. He gathers his things quickly, and walks side by side with Roach ahead on the dark road. She lets him guide her, and Geralt is thankful, because he knows it's too dark for a horse to see anything. He sees just enough, however, and dawn can't be long from now.

The first rays of sun catch him boiling some water, cleaning some cloth to bandage his side. Roach is nipping at his shoulder, nosing closer to the arrow in a way that clearly indicates she wants it gone as much as he does. He pets her snout. His throat feels tight.

"It's bad enough that I put you through this, girl," he mumbles. Her big brown eyes catch on him, looking as she often does like she's looking straight into his soul. Or what's left of it anyway. "It's better this way."

Geralt steadies himself before he takes hold of the arrow. He grits his teeth. Pulls. 

He hates himself for letting himself rest against Roach's side when his side is finally bandaged. Roach at least doesn't judge him, he reasons. And she's not a human. If Roach dies, he can get another horse...

Roach huffs, as if she'd read his thoughts, and Geralt thinks an apology. But he doesn't dare say it out loud.

It’s better this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed my story :D
> 
> If you did, please consider leaving kudos or a comment, they're greatly appreciated!
> 
> If you’d like to create related content based on my fic, please visit my profile for my blanket permission statement!
> 
> If you want to yell with me and share more headcanons for these dorks, you can find me at my tumblr, [kyokotsukuyomi](http://kyokotsukuyomi.tumblr.com/), the comments section down below, or any of the links in my profile. Don't be shy!
> 
> Love,
> 
> ~Lena


	2. Potions

****

#  **Day 2 - Potions**

He doesn't quite register the pain anymore, he finds. Or rather, the only thing he registers is the pain, and thus fails to feel the awkward way in which his body is dragging against the floor, half propped up against Jaskier, limp and falling forward. The bard is breathing heavily, and the stench of fear is so heavy around him that Geralt feels sick. He can barely smell his own blood, with Jaskier so close. He daren't complain, however. He hasn't the strength to haul himself back to Roach, back to his potions, and this time he desperately needs them. 

Jaskier is heaving for air by the time they reach camp, and Geralt is all but deposited against Roach's side. She nickers, alert at the scent of blood, and he does his best to shush her. He only manages to lift his hand enough to caress her briefly, and it isn't enough to do the trick. Jaskier is rummaging through his pack frantically, and Geralt allows himself to close his eyes for a moment. It'll be fine now. Jaskier is here.

# -

Geralt's eyes are closed, and Jaskier knows he's simply resting, but his mind is playing tricks on him, and he can't do much else but keep looking. But try as he might, he keeps finding potions that all look the same, and smell the same, and he's between three of them that could potentially save Geralt, or, best scenario, not do much harm. His fingers are shaking.

Geralt droops a little from where he's sitting, and Roach whinnies again. Jaskier pushes all the little bottles back into place. He needs to prioritize. A tourniquet... a tourniquet first. Then he needs to at least bandage the worst of the wounds, and _then_ he can keep worrying about the rest. He takes care of that quickly, thankful for all the injuries he's helped Geralt with through the years. His fingers are still shaking though, and when he looks back at Geralt's backpack he can't help the retch that overcomes him. He's going to throw up. He's going to throw up, fuck, he doesn't have time for this though... He has to get his shit together...!

He isn't really sure how he manages to do it, but he mounts Roach and manages to pull Geralt with him, hold him as best as he can. Roach stands up, understanding without words what he needs of her, and he encourages her toward the town. The only thing he takes along are Geralt's potions, and his bag of coin. He can come back later for his lute and backpack, which he leaves hidden beneath some brambles.

# -

The apothecary screams to all heavens when he sees them, both covered in blood and probably looking like living dead, but soon enough Jaskier tears seem to convince him that they really need help. He's not a healer, he complains, he wouldn't know how to begin treating the witcher, but Jaskier doesn't mind. He only needs to know which potion is which! Geralt has never been good at labelling, you see, and...

"You're in luck, then," the man says, relief finally coloring his voice. "There was another witcher in town today. He was staying at our inn, and he should be able to tell you which potion you need, much quicker than I ever could."

Jaskier didn't know he had enough tears to spill, but they threaten to do so as he thanks the man for his help. He leaves Geralt with the apothecary, who promises to clean his wounds in the meantime, and Roach seems to be in just as much a hurry, because she all but gallops toward wherever Jaskier says. They'd never been such a team, he thinks idly, as he cries for the witcher, whoever he is. 

"What is it?" a gruff voice replies, and Jaskier all but falls off Roach.

"Eskel! Oh Melitele, you're a sight for sore eyes," Jaskier breathes.

Eskel takes one look at him and his face falls.

"Take me to him," he says. 

Jaskier does.

# -

Eskel doesn't waste any time tending to Geralt, who has been lowered into a makeshift bedroll that the apothecary has made out of some blankets. The bandages are firm still, and Eskel seems impressed when Jaskier doesn't hand him the entire pack of bottles, instead handing him three, apparently identical ones. He takes them, scents them, picks one. Jaskier sags against the wall. Outside, Roach neighs impatiently.

"I'm going to calm her down," he announces, quietly. The adrenaline is starting to leave him, and he doesn't want to crash in front of them, or worse, in front of Geralt, were he to wake up. He doesn't wait to see if the others have heard him.

He walks back to Roach, whom they had left all but stranded in their hurry, and pets her. She bumps his chest, agitated, and he does his best to calm her, running his hand through her mane as he's seen Geralt do many times.

"He's going to be okay, Roachie," he mumbles, trying to imitate the volume Geralt tends to use with her. She seems to pick up on that. "Eskel is with him now. He's going to be okay. You've been so good, Roachie, yes you have. We're going to tell him just how good of a girl you've been, helping me get to Eskel."

He gets Roach to the inn's stable, borrows a brush to help her calm down further. He sings to her, his own tiredness catching up with him as he does. It feels like hours have passed, by the time Eskel comes looking for him. Jaskier has slid to the ground next to Roach by then, and they're both startled by the witcher's appearance.

"Hey," he greets gently. "Geralt is awake. We've brought him to the inn too, he's asking for you."

"Oh," Jaskier blinks, confusedly. "Is he...?"

"He's alright. The potion will help him heal through the night, though you might want to keep him in town for at least two more days, if you can. He shouldn't be riding, much less fighting in that state. Why are you here?" Eskel asks, not giving him time to keep asking after Geralt. "He was so worried when he woke up and couldn't find you," he adds, repproachingly. Jaskier isn't sure what to say.

"He was?" he mumbles. 

"He was convinced you would be there, told me that 'he knew you'd find the right potion'," Eskel adds, and has enough tact to look away as he does. Jaskier sighs. "I see he still isn't very good at labelling, is he?"

"I don't think he ever will be," Jaskier laughs, a hollow sound that takes more effort than he currently cares to admit.

"If you ever need to find it again," Eskel says, deliberately not looking at him still. "You can spill a bit of it on the ground. All the rest will wilt plants. The healing potion won't. Smells like death, but I guess they all do, especially to a human," he adds with some humor. He offers a hand. "Come on, bard. I promised Geralt I'd find you, and he _will_ come hunt us both down if I don't get you to him soon."

"Geralt doesn't _actually_ care that much," Jaskier shakes his head. "And anyway, I should probably go back for my things. I left them hidden in the forest so that Roach could go faster."

"Not tonight," Eskel shakes his head as well, and pulls Jaskier up. "Geralt won't let you, and if anyone has any chance of getting him to listen, that's you."

Jaskier very much doubts it, but he doesn't have the energy to argue. He only hopes his lute survives the night...

# -

Geralt is indeed making a fuss about his bandages. Eskel slaps his hand away from it as soon as he sees it.

"Stop it! They're secure, I've told you already!"

"I don't trust apothecaries to know how to bandage..."

"I took care of it," Jaskier murmurs, walking closer and pushing Geralt's hand away from his wound. "I'm sure it's tight enough, I was running on enough adrenaline to drag you away from that forest by myself," he adds, and frowns. "Dumb move, dear witcher. You could have at least labelled the one potion I might need to find without your help!" he flicks at the hand, and Geralt actually smiles a little.

"You did, though."

"Eskel did."

Geralt seems shocked by this, his brow furrowing, and Jaskier sits on the edge of the bed to lean over him and continue checking his bandages. They're holding, despite having wrapped them in the semi-darkness, while panicking. He adjusts one, a bit tighter, sighs, and plasters on a smile.

"Roach was such a good girl, Geralt, you're going to love hearing this. So, after I got us back to camp, she..."

Whether Geralt wants him to shut up or not isn't clear, so Jaskier continues his story, making sure to tell Geralt everything Roach had done this time, and how well she'd helped Jaskier get to the town. He tells him how Eskel had known immediately what to do, and how lucky he was to have him as family. Once he finishes, he stands to start washing his hands, and soak his chemise before the bloodstains are permanent. By the time he's done, Geralt's eyes are closed, and though he's probably not asleep yet, he doesn't seem to want to talk any further. Jaskier doesn't bother hiding his smile this time, shaky, longing. He reaches out to move Geralt's hair out of his face, and drapes his cape over him. He'll need a bath when he wakes, no need to dirty the bedsheets any further by tucking him in. He's rummaging through Geralt's pack to borrow a shirt to sleep in, when Eskel stands up.

"I'll be back soon," he announces, and Jaskier nods.

"Can you get Roach something to eat? I'll pay you back, I just need to crash on some vaguely horizontal surface for a few hours," he asks. Eskel snorts, shakes his head.

"I'll take care of her. Get some sleep, Jaskier."

Jaskier does, falling asleep almost immediately after he unpacks Geralt's bedroll next to the bed and lays down.

# -

He wakes with the morning sun, early enough that the streets are still quiet outside the inn, and takes inventory. Geralt is sleeping in the bed. At some point in the night he's likely to have rolled onto his side, and it's anyone's guess whether it'll be the good side or the injured one. He'll complain either way that the bandages have come looser as a result. 

He's freezing, wearing only Geralt's shirt to sleep, although someone has put a blanket over him. As he looks to the side, Eskel is sitting in a nearby chair, meditating it would seem. His lute, and the rest of their packs, are sitting next to him. Jaskier sits up at the sight, and a pair of yellow eyes opens to look at him. He smiles.

"You went for our things," he murmurs, and Eskel grins.

"You did all the damn work last night, least I could do to thank you for saving him was to get your lute back. Your livelihood depends on it, doesn't it? It wasn't hard to track back to it."

"Thank you."

Jaskier stands. He's already running through his head how much coin they have left, and whether the innkeeper will let them stay another night if he performs, already wondering what he should get Geralt before he wakes up famished, the way he always does after taking a healing potion. He dresses quickly, and by the time he goes out of the room as quietly as he can, he misses the way two pairs of yellow eyes follow him this time.

No words pass between them, but when their eyes meet, Geralt is the one who looks away. 

"’Geralt doesn't _actually_ care that much’," Eskel quotes, and if it startles Geralt, he hides it well enough. "I see you haven't changed much."

"..."

"You've been lucky to find a masochistic bard, Geralt. But you might want to think of keeping him, somehow, because clearly your sunny disposition isn't going to do the trick."

Geralt doesn't answer, and perhaps he's thinking over the words, but Eskel doesn't wait around to find out. He stands from the chair, stretching after a night of sitting there, meditating. 

"I'll go make sure he gets some food for himself before he inevitably brings you breakfast up here. He won't want you to move, so _don't_."

Eskel rearranges their backpacks so they're not so close to the door, and offers a final word of advice before leaving Geralt alone.

"Oh, and Geralt? Label your fucking potions, or that bard will poison you one day, and blame himself for it for the rest of his life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed my story :D
> 
> If you did, please consider leaving kudos or a comment, they're greatly appreciated!
> 
> If you’d like to create related content based on my fic, please visit my profile for my blanket permission statement!
> 
> If you want to yell with me and share more headcanons for these dorks, you can find me at my tumblr, [kyokotsukuyomi](http://kyokotsukuyomi.tumblr.com/), the comments section down below, or any of the links in my profile. Don't be shy!
> 
> Love,
> 
> ~Lena


	3. Cursed

****

#  **Day 3 - Cursed**

Mutations are supposed to dull their emotions, they say. 

The witch repeats it with a grimace, perhaps as an excuse, perhaps as a reason, and leaves Geralt writhing on the floor, feeling as though his insides have a sudden need to be _outside_. He grits his teeth. A fucking pain curse, one apparently strong enough to affect a witcher. As curses go, they're fairly straightforward, and generally don't last long. 

Geralt isn't sure exactly where, how, or who came up with that saying, he thinks, trying to keep his mind off of the pain, but he'd been brought up to believe it as well. There wasn't much that argued against it, anyway.

Ever since he was a child, brought up by Vesimir and trained to be able to face the kind of creature that would make the bravest man quiver in fear, Geralt had been taught to act as though he didn't feel the same way humans did. 

It made things easier, in a sense. If humans thought that a witcher would be too afraid to slay their beasts, they wouldn't hire them. On the other hand, though, if humans thought they didn't have emotions altogether, they could be truly cruel indeed.

A few minutes pass, and Geralt eventually manages to stand up on shaky legs, feeling more unsure on his feet than he's felt in years. He hurries outside of the witch's hut, rushing to find Roach, to ensure that she's still there. He has to call her a few times, but eventually she trots out of the forest, where he'd left her hidden. She neighs when she sees he's hurting, and he mounts only to let her take the lead, and bring them both to the safety of the forest. There might be other creatures around, but none stupid enough to try and fight a witcher. At least, none in this area of the forest. The witch would have made sure of it. Once they're a little farther from the hut, and Geralt feels like he's starting to be able to breathe a little better, he dismounts again, and leans against Roach unsteadily. She lowers herself to let him rest, something that Jaskier had taught her the last time they'd been together. Roach had been more than happy to let them rest against her flank when she'd understood that Geralt ran cold when he took his potions. He shivers involuntarily as the curse wreaks havoc through his nerves, stomach lurching unpleasantly. He's glad, not for the first time, for the mutations. There's no way a human would be able to walk or ride on his own under this curse.

It's because of instances like these that Geralt had come to believe it with the years, that witchers shouldn't feel. The Path of a witcher was difficult enough as it was, and it would only make sense to dull their emotions through the Trials, a small compensation for putting them through it, right? He'd met a handful of other witchers, and while winters in Kaer Morhen were definitely more relaxed than spontaneously meeting while traveling, he knew none of them were prone to being emotional. They weren't cold shells, of course they cared about each other. Vesimir had all but raised them as brothers, and they had a lot of shared memories.

He did wonder, though, sometimes. In his darkest moments, when the loneliness became too much, when the instinctive rejection from humans hit him particularly hard. He did wonder then, if the others might have their emotions more dulled than he did. Whether he'd been cursed to still feel, like the humans did. Did this pain curse affect his brothers less than it affected him? Perhaps so. He hoped so, quietly. 

His Path was difficult enough, he mused as he waited for the curse to taper out. No need for others to traverse it as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed my story :D
> 
> If you did, please consider leaving kudos or a comment, they're greatly appreciated!
> 
> If you’d like to create related content based on my fic, please visit my profile for my blanket permission statement!
> 
> If you want to yell with me and share more headcanons for these dorks, you can find me at my tumblr, [kyokotsukuyomi](http://kyokotsukuyomi.tumblr.com/), the comments section down below, or any of the links in my profile. Don't be shy!
> 
> Love,
> 
> ~Lena


	4. Betrayal

****

#  **Day 4 - Betrayal**

Geralt wakes up to the scent of blood. 

That in itself isn't unusual. The unusual part is _whose_ blood it is. He startles as he recognizes it, sitting up with a groan as his own injuries catch up with him.

"Jaskier!" he calls, voice hoarse. A hand immediately finds his, but it's far too soft and small to be Jaskier's.

A young woman is sitting by the side of his bed. She grins at him, entirely unafraid.

"Master Jaskier said to keep an eye on you, that you'd wake up worried," she says, with laughter in her voice. "He said to tell you that he's alright, by the way. But between you and me," she adds, more quietly, and Geralt arches his eyebrows. "I think he's trying too hard. Have you turned him down already? I know _I_ wouldn't mind if you did, I think he's cute!"

Well, that's a new one.

The question about him having turned Jaskier down, not the girl thinking he's cute. Melitele knows women will somehow always find the bard charming. He seems to have found a particularly brave lass, because she squeezes his hand once and pats his shoulder as she leaves her chair. She walks by to his pack, bringing it to him with a huff. She's... Geralt is terrible at estimating ages, but she doesn't look much older than sixteen. Boys that age are still children, he thinks, but the girls are often already becoming forces of the universe to be reckoned with, still young enough not to know when to be properly afraid of things. Like witchers, for example. He takes the heavy pack from her, and frowns. She frowns too.

"He said you'd want your pack," she shrugs. 

"Hmm."

"Not a talkative one, huh? That's alright."

He rummages through his pack, wondering what on earth Jaskier had left for him. He finds his answer soon enough, the pouch of coin sitting between his clothes, carefully hidden from view. He groans, the memory of the previous evening hitting him all of a sudden.

"Where is the bard?" he asks. The girl considers his question, and then shrugs again, as if disappointed. He considers answering her previous question, letting her know that Jaskier and him aren't actually an item, but she's speaking before he can do so.

"He went downstairs a while ago. He didn't say why, but I imagine he's having breakfast. He didn't leave your room the entire time you were, er, healing?"

She's clearly repeating Jaskier's words, and Geralt only nods. He vaguely remembers having downed a healing potion before letting Jaskier take over and all but collapsing on the bed. Not that Jaskier had been all that much better, because to nobody's surprise, he'd managed to get in trouble himself. Someone in town had decided it was a good idea to cross the bard, and this time Geralt had been too tired and hurt to stop the subsequent fight. 

The door opened before he could ask the girl to leave him alone, and she squeaked in surprise. She then sighed in relief as Jaskier joined them. He brought a tray with him, and he smiled at her sweetly before turning his attention to Geralt.

"Here," he offered without prompting. "I brought you food. You're going to need it after yesterday's ordeal."

"Have you had anything, Master Jaskier?" the girl asks, solicit. Jaskier smiles at her, but Geralt can tell he's not interested. Just as good. She's but a child still.

"Oh, here and there, yes. I'm much more concerned with Geralt right now. Witchers get very moody when they're hungry," he says, but he follows it with a wink, and she giggles. "Now, I'd hate to keep you, my lady. Why don't you get yourself some breakfast as well, while I tend to Geralt's wounds? He may heal fast, but I think this time we might have to give it an extra day."

"It was pretty bad," she agrees, moving toward the door. She frowns, looking at Geralt. "I think I haven't asked... Is there anything I can get you, Sir Witcher?"

"No. Thank you," he says, glancing at the tray Jaskier has just put in front of him. "But we'll require a bath," he adds as an afterthought. Jaskier nods, approvingly, turning to Geralt as Tanya leaves. He's beaming.

"Finally learning to take care of yourself a little, huh? I was going to order that bath as soon as you were finished with your breakfast, you know," he says.

"You're still half covered in blood, bard. You need that bath as much as I do," he reminds him. He hands the tray back to him. "Eat something. You can fool that little girl, maybe, but I know you better. I won't have you skipping meals."

"I won't slow you down if I skip breakfast _once_ ," Jaskier grumbles, picking at Geralt's piece of warm bread. 

He ignores the complaints, instead pushing the blankets away and checking his leg injury. He can move it again, which is a good sign, but when he does, he can tell the wound hasn't yet begun to scar under the bandage. Some blood has seeped through, and Jaskier clicks his tongue as he sees it too.

"I think that's going to require stitching after all," he murmurs to himself, setting the tray down in the chair Tanya had left by Geralt's bed, and moving to their packs to retrieve their supplies. 

Geralt takes a chance to look at him. He isn't limping terribly, but his gait lacks his characteristic sway of the hips, his arms move slightly less graciously than usual. He's tired, and he's also hiding a bandage or two under his clothes, as if Geralt can't smell his blood even when he's not in the room. He narrows his eyes.

"You got into another fight after you helped me to the room, didn't you," he accuses. Jaskier's shoulders stiffen.

"I didn't!"

"You're a terrible liar. What happened to your leg? If you've broken something I'll leave you here until it's healed," he threatens. Jaskier huffs, and glares at Geralt with hurt in his eyes. 

"No you wouldn't," he whispers. 

Geralt isn't sure how to answer that.

"It wasn't a fight," Jaskier adds after a moment, composing himself. "A drunken disagreement, at best. I just sprained my ankle a little, but I can walk more than fine, thank you very much. I'll be fine as long as you don't get Roach trotting."

"Hm."

"Besides! Your leg isn't any better, so don't you go scolding me."

Geralt can't help but snort. Okay, so the bard has a point. Had to happen every once in a while. He picks up some of the bread. It's sweet bread, he finds soon enough, filled with marmalade. He startles at the scent, the stickiness of the marmalade threatening to slide down his fingers. Jaskier doesn't see it, thankfully, busy as he is starting a small fire on the fireplace so he can clean the needle. 

The next few minutes pass slowly, comfortably. Tanya comes back with the water for the bath, and Jaskier washes and sews Geralt's wound carefully once the kid leaves them alone again. He sits Geralt in a chair to get the worst of the dirt out of his hair, and washes the bandages before putting them back, refusing to let Geralt into the scalding hot water without redressing an open wound. Again, every now and then the bard has a point. It still stings when Geralt finally sits in the tub, but not enough that he can't relax in the water. He lets out a sigh, and Jaskier smiles affectionately. Geralt averts his eyes.

Jaskier is readying a different set of bandages, this time a completely clean set. He hangs them near the fireplace, and Geralt already knows they will be warm and cozy for him when he gets out of the water. He scratches the top of his current bandage on his leg. It's no longer bloody, but the water has seeped completely through it, and it's not doing much for the wound anymore. He raises the leg to keep it above the water. For the first time in a while, there's silence between them. 

It somehow feels oddly intimate, and Geralt searches for something to ask before it gets any worse. Unfortunately, the only thing coming to mind are Tanya's words from earlier.

"What have you told that young girl?" he caves in after another silent minute. Jaskier startles, his fingers pausing in massaging his own ankle.

"What have I told her?" he asks back, confusedly. "Has she said anything weird?"

For a moment, Geralt isn't sure if this is a trap. Leave it to Jaskier to make him admit to things through someone else. But after a moment, he decides that Jaskier wouldn't do that, not when he's looking at him with such sincerity in his eyes. No. Jaskier wouldn't betray his trust like that.

He's used to people betraying his trust. Jaskier is often the one getting angry on his behalf, like the night previous, after all. The alderman had tried to refuse him his pay, and for once, Geralt is curious to know what Jaskier must have done to get him his deserved coin, _and_ not have them thrown out in the street afterwards. Tanya had seemed impressed.

"She asked whether or not I'd turned you down already. A curious one, that girl. I'd be careful if I were you," he offers. Jaskier's cheeks have turned an amusing shade of pink. 

"I-I've noticed," he manages. "Can't blame her. We've all been teenagers, and, well, my fame precedes me, after all."

"Hmm."

"What did you tell her?" Jaskier asks carefully after a moment. Geralt arches an eyebrow, making him chuckle. "You didn't answer, did you... Poor girl, Geralt. She probably thinks I'm taken now, and by a witcher of all people! I hope you haven't killed her spirit."

"She's still more than capable of making heart eyes at you when you're not looking, don't worry," Geralt grumbles, and Jaskier laughs some more.

"See, this is why people think we're together. You're always so grumpy, and scary looking, and I'm still alive."

"Alive and telling people that you want to court a witcher," Geralt agrees. Jaskier chokes.

"Geralt, I'd never tell people that. I know how private you are, despite not sharing the same boundaries," he chastises.

Jaskier has grown up. It's not the first time Geralt thinks so, but every now and then he realizes how much humans can learn in such short times. He manages a smile for the bard, who returns it before looking away. There had been a time where Jaskier might have been both brave and stupid enough to announce to the world that he intended to court Geralt. It felt like it had been a long time ago. But after Yennefer, and after the dragon quest... Jaskier had become a lot more muted in his affections. A lot more private, a lot less pushy.

"Why?" Geralt finds himself asking. Jaskier considers his question.

"Because if I want people to respect you, I need to lead by example," he settles for. "I've been nothing but transparent with you, Geralt. At this point, I think you trust me not to push the issue, and I would never betray that. It's taken me over two decades to earn that trust."

He stands up, walking to the breakfast tray that lays forgotten on the bed. He picks it up, fingers shaking a little. Geralt can smell tears, but they haven't spilled yet when Jaskier crosses the room toward the door. His voice is steady as he excuses himself to return the tray to the kitchens, but Geralt can hear his heart beating faster, wildly so. The scent of his distress reaches him, if a little muted, even through the door.

It takes Geralt a few more seconds to realize that Jaskier still hadn't denied ever wanting to court him. He can't help but wonder if he is the one betraying their unspoken agreement not to bring this up, but the thought doesn't agitate him as much as it used to. Perhaps he's used to Jaskier wearing his feelings on his sleeve. Perhaps he's able to appreciate them much more now that they both have a better understanding of each other, after being able to talk through the worst argument they'd had so far. Perhaps because he knows those feelings haven't wavered, _despite_ said argument. Perhaps because they are genuine, no magic or destiny meddling with them. Geralt isn't sure. 

Still. Even if Jaskier doesn't intend to court him properly, it's clearly not because he doesn't want to. Geralt had been able to see it, and scent it. The want, the longing... Geralt is no stranger to those, but more than that, Jaskier has rarely hidden them from him. So now, Geralt has some thinking to do. Jaskier is trusting him with his feelings, and this time, Geralt doesn't want to betray them. 

Perhaps a trip to the coast is in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed my story :D
> 
> If you did, please consider leaving kudos or a comment, they're greatly appreciated!
> 
> If you’d like to create related content based on my fic, please visit my profile for my blanket permission statement!
> 
> If you want to yell with me and share more headcanons for these dorks, you can find me at my tumblr, [kyokotsukuyomi](http://kyokotsukuyomi.tumblr.com/), the comments section down below, or any of the links in my profile. Don't be shy!
> 
> Love,
> 
> ~Lena


	5. Loneliness

****

#  **Day 5 - Loneliness**

Geralt liked silence. Silence had often meant Geralt could rest easy. 

Not absolute silence, of course. When traveling the Path, one would often become accustomed to the sounds of the forest, the creatures living within. Were it to turn truly silent, Geralt would find it almost creepy. But the lack of human sounds, now _that's_ music to his ears. 

Witchers aren't well received among humans, and even those who need his services are scared of him, they don't trust him. Geralt had learned to accept that, the farther he was from them, the more peaceful his days. Humans couldn't truly hurt him, not in small numbers, not anymore than any other monster. Still, they had other weapons at their disposal, and he'd learned early enough in life that words could cut deeper than any claw or fang. 

Jaskier had been nothing but noisy since they had met, too. The first few years, Geralt had nearly dropped him into a river at least once a week, and he'd been eager to lose sight of him whenever an event came up for the bard and their paths diverged. But Jaskier had never hurt him, and slowly but surely, Geralt realized he'd gotten used to him. He'd become part of the tolerable noise of the Path. 

It isn't that he considers Jaskier background noise, though undoubtedly, he tunes him out on many occasions. It's more like... the bard has managed to become a well-known nuisance, at worst. He sings, and Geralt has always appreciated music. He's never had the opportunity to truly rest in taverns and listen before, and Jaskier has not only created songs for him, but allowed him to listen and learn bits and pieces of the trade as time passed. He has never told the bard, of course, no need to inflate his already enormous ego, but he's always appreciated his music, especially his lute playing. His singing, ah, that is slightly different. Geralt isn't the biggest fan of some of the lyrics, and some songs are insufferable like that. But the point still stands, Jaskier has stopped bothering him as much after a while.

The worst part about the bard is how unpredictable he still manages to be, sometimes, Geralt reflects. They've argued a lot through the years, and perhaps he's never spoken with quite that much venom in his voice, yes, but...

Jaskier has never before gone away when told to do so. It is an odd feeling to realize he has, this time, and much like a completely silent forest, traveling the path down the mountain without the bard chattering nearby is... unnerving.

Worse than. 

It's... his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed my story :D
> 
> If you did, please consider leaving kudos or a comment, they're greatly appreciated!
> 
> If you’d like to create related content based on my fic, please visit my profile for my blanket permission statement!
> 
> If you want to yell with me and share more headcanons for these dorks, you can find me at my tumblr, [kyokotsukuyomi](http://kyokotsukuyomi.tumblr.com/), the comments section down below, or any of the links in my profile. Don't be shy!
> 
> Love,
> 
> ~Lena


	6. Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicidal thoughts

****

#  **Day 6 - Monster**

It doesn't take him long to leave Blaviken. 

They've stopped throwing stones at him by the time he does, but he still feels the sting from the impacts. They haven't drawn blood, but he still has some in his hands. Renfri...

Roach walks ahead, the sound of her shoes comforting in its rhythm. He's still too alert from the fight, from having searched for Renfri in a rush, to let himself be lulled by the sounds of nature surrounding him. He lets Roach guide them back to where he'd set camp the night before, and he washes his hands on the river, in silence. The sun is high in the morning, and the clouds are passing already, turning the day into what seems like a decent spring morning. He might not get rained on yet, he thinks. An interesting contrast to his current mood.

Monster, they'd called him. Not for the first time, he wonders if they're right.

He kills monsters for a living. He's trained to do so with efficiency, and he's... he's good at it, damnit. But he isn't allowed to take pride in his work, so he doesn't let himself dwell on that. Instead, his mind takes him to other instances. Times when he hadn't been able to save the humans he was supposed to protect. Renfri hadn't been the first, and most likely, wouldn't be the last. Humans had a tendency to get themselves killed, regardless of Geralt's efforts. He'd learned not to get involved with them, but every now and then, someone would come to him, much like Renfri had. Someone who he then would feel responsible for. 

He wonders if Renfri would still be alive, hadn't he stepped on Blaviken the day before. Would she have succeeded in her plan, had he not tried to dissuade her? He'd killed her with his own hands, this time it hadn't been a casualty. He hated having to choose a lesser evil, but after being forced to... Had it been the right choice? 

How can he choose between a person and another? He doesn't kill beings with a conscience, if he can help it, and that includes humans. But what happens when he _has_ to choose? Does that make _him_ the monster?

Roach pushes him toward the circle of rocks where he'd made a fire the night before, possibly concerned, since he often makes a fire first when he camps. It's the middle of the day, though, and he should probably find something to eat. His supplies are still low, since he hasn't managed to restock in Blaviken. He'll have to hunt.

He goes through the motions, a hint of a thought he's had many times before threatening to push into his conscious mind. 

If he's a monster... who's to say he shouldn't kill that one as well?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed my story :D
> 
> If you did, please consider leaving kudos or a comment, they're greatly appreciated!
> 
> If you’d like to create related content based on my fic, please visit my profile for my blanket permission statement!
> 
> If you want to yell with me and share more headcanons for these dorks, you can find me at my tumblr, [kyokotsukuyomi](http://kyokotsukuyomi.tumblr.com/), the comments section down below, or any of the links in my profile. Don't be shy!
> 
> Love,
> 
> ~Lena


	7. Kaer Morhen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favorite chapter to write, perhaps because I'd already become more accustomed to writing these characters XD I hope you enjoy it as well. We'll see each other again in another fic!
> 
> ~Lena

****

#  **Day 7 - Kaer Morhen**

Jaskier has been stopped from fighting other people 3 times this week alone, and this has been a rather good week, all things considered. His witcher is relaxed, the insults thrown at him had been lousy at best, and the people in the towns they've been traveling through have been friendly enough, especially after Jaskier had played a few songs for them. Geralt had ran into a nasty bunch of monsters, though, and his left shoulder had ended up rather worse for wear. But he'd been compensated adequately for it, and they've moved to the next town over so he can rest until he's fully healed... So, a rather good week.

Perhaps precisely because of that, it comes as a surprise when, in the middle of a perfectly nice night in a tavern, Geralt stiffens, lifting his head from their food to glare at two men sitting nearby. They don't seem to notice, but Jaskier's hairs stand on end at the thought of _Geralt_ being offended for once. He tugs on his sleeve to get him to turn around again.

"Geralt, come on," he pleads, startling the witcher. "Whatever they've said, _I'll_ fight them for you. Your arm is still in bandages!"

"No," Geralt refuses immediately. "If someone's going to put them in their place, it's going to be me."

"Geralt..."

"It's fine. I'll leave them be for now. Finish your food."

'Finish your food' means that they are likely to get thrown out after whatever he's planning to do, and Jaskier sighs, letting his head fall on his arms. His feet are tired, and he's only gotten to play a single set so far before their food had been served. People would expect the rest of his performance afterwards, and the few ladies out that night were definitely eyeing them both with interest, no matter how blind Geralt was to this kind of thing. 

Jaskier doesn't even remember Geralt initiating a fight, ever!

"What's finally gotten to you, anyway?" he asks, nibbling on a potato. Geralt frowns at him, and in an impressive show of table manners that had fascinated Jaskier from the very first time he saw the witcher eat, he swallows his own food before answering.

"It's nothing."

"Yes, and I'm a virginal maid," Jaskier snorts. "Come on, witcher. Whatever it is, I'm sure I've gotten into fights for less. Don't get shy on me."

"You've definitely gotten into fights for less," Geralt rolls his eyes, kicks him softly under the table. It had taken a long time for Jaskier to realize that Geralt was incredibly gentle with him. A soft kick between witchers looked nothing like what Geralt did to Jaskier, and he did kick him very often, because Jaskier was not ashamed in the slightest about his ability to run his stupid mouth.

Geralt didn't answer for a long time though. He kept his eyes trained on his food, brow furrowed, and ate like he was trying to focus on every singular flavor in their stew. Jaskier ended up humming under his breath after a while, trying to help make noise so that Geralt wouldn't have to hear the other men, but all he got was a glare for speaking and eating at the same time. Well then. He better keep an eye out for easy escape routes...

Geralt lasted long enough for Jaskier to finish eating, and then he pushed him toward the corner where he'd been singing earlier, conveniently placed near the door. He frowned at Geralt.

"You could just, you know, let it be for tonight and..."

"I'll be fine, Jaskier. Go play your little lute."

Go sing your songs, Jaskier. I'll never stop treating you like a child, Jaskier. Fuck that. Gritting his teeth, and hoping he wasn't flushing in embarrassment, Jaskier obeyed. If Geralt noticed, and/or cared, he didn't show it. What in the world was going on, anyway? Geralt was usually in a good mood when the winter got close, and they were already on their way to Kaer Morhen! They'd separate soon enough, and it pained Jaskier to think they might spend their last few days together fighting with townsfolk. He'd been behaving so far, and now Geralt was going to punch someone just because?

The idea left a horrible feeling in his stomach. How bad could it be, that Geralt was about to get into a fight? He observed the man walk closer to the bar, ask for a tankard of ale, and sit back. Jaskier ran a few scales, tuning his lute. He'd have to wait and see.

He got through the entire set, thankfully, before anything happened. It hadn't been his best performance, distracted as he was with Geralt's constant glaring at the group of men by the window, but people seemed to have enjoyed it, as they threw a few coins at him, and the occasional one at the witcher. At some point along the way, a young boy, almost a child, had made it into a game to try and catch Geralt unaware whenever Jaskier sang "Toss a Coin", and it had caught like wildfire through the brave - or stupid - people of the continent. Today, while he didn't change his expression, Jaskier feared it would only make matters worse.

He was already stepping down when it happened. A delicate hand touched his shoulder, and he turned around to see the barmaid, who smiled secretively. She placed a finger over her own lips, indicating silence, and with a wink, led him out of the tavern, toward the stables. He stumbled as he followed her, trying to explain...

"You don't have to say anything," she cut him off, mirth in her eyes. "Your companion asked me to get your things to the stables, he said you would know how to get the horse ready. Which one is yours?" she added, walking closer to the stalls. Jaskier stood there, too shocked to react.

"Geralt said I'd...?"

"Yes. The witcher, right? You sing pretty things about him, bard. This town accepts witchers better than other places, but I don't think tonight was the best time of the year to appear here," she admits. "A lot of people die around this time, if they venture too close to that keep."

"Kaer Morhen?" he mumbles, and she nods, still eyeing the horses. He walks with her closer to Roach, who neighs in greeting, and allows Jaskier to pet her. She's warmed up to him with the years, but she looks at the girl warily. 

"It's a dangerous place. Townsfolk resent it, they think the accidents that keep happening around it are the witchers' fault," she continues. She sounds sympathetic, but Jaskier keeps his mouth shut, for once, just in case. "Your witcher didn't seem to take it well, did he?"

"I didn't hear..." Jaskier starts. It's been a long time since anyone's referred to Geralt as 'his witcher', and it doesn't fail to wake up the butterflies he mostly manages to keep asleep in his stomach.

"Oh, you might not have," she nods. 

He leads Roach out of the stable, eager to get closer to the tavern again, but the girl stops him. She snorts.

"Hey. No offense, but the witcher is a lot scarier than you are, and he wasn't in a good mood," she says. "He wanted me to keep you away from whatever he's about to do, and I will."

One of her eyebrows rises, almost suggestively, but Jaskier has no intention of letting Geralt distract him like this. He scowls, and places a gentle hand on her arm.

"My dear lady, I wouldn't say no if I thought you were offering sincerely," he reassures her. She seems relieved.

"Your reputation precedes you, Master Jaskier," she intones. She's back to laughing at him, gently, but laughing nonetheless. 

"Then you'll know I would never force an unwilling partner," he settles.

He's not concerned about her, in any case. He's finished mounting all their packs on Roach, and he strains his ears, trying to hear what might be happening in the tavern. There's the sound of a scuffle, building up with an argument, and he can't understand what they're saying, but after a few minutes, Geralt himself walks out of the door. He shuts it, far more gently, than he could if he wanted to, and stalks to where Jaskier is waiting. He sighs.

"Thanks," he mutters to the barmaid, who nods.

"I'm sorry about them, witcher," she says, before Jaskier can ask what the hell has just happened. "We've lost a hunter last week, he went too far into the mountain, and when we found him, he was already dead."

"My condolences," Geralt answers, eyes searching the girl's face. She doesn't seem to mind. "The mountain isn't safe this time of year, much less for humans. Make sure they remember it, because they won't believe a witcher's word."

"Our town doesn't distrust witchers," she says again, lifting her chin in defiance. "You're not human, but you're not nearly as scary as other monsters that live out there. You keep us safe, and you've never hunted us down. Why would we fear them?"

"You..."

"There's a witcher living in that keep, all year long. As long as he watches over us, we'll have no reason to distrust you. Don't get me wrong, we wish hunting wasn't as dangerous, but those men had no right to bad mouth your home just for that."

"... Thanks," he finally answers. 

She lowers her head, turns to press a friendly kiss on Jaskier's cheek, and gets away with patting Roach once, before running away at her distressed neigh. Jaskier chuckles, but as soon as she reenters the tavern, Geralt slumps slightly against Roach, and Jaskier rushes to help support him. All he gets for his efforts is a grunt.

"You got into a fight," he accuses, and Geralt glares at him.

"Bard," he warns.

"You got into a _fight_!" he repeats. He gestures at him. "While _injured_! And you get mad at me? What are we going to do now? We can't just camp outside, and the next town is farther away from the mountain."

"There's a small hut we can use," Geralt murmurs. 

He stands straighter, wincing. For a moment, he doesn't move, and Jaskier realizes pretty quickly that his arm isn't working right.

"Do you...? Your shoulder..."

"I think I need to set it back into place," he admits. Jaskier sighs.

"I'll help. Tell me about this mystery hut. Is this a witcher secret? The townsfolk would know if there was something inhabitable in the middle of their mountain!"

Geralt grits his teeth, but a small shout escapes him as Jaskier sets his shoulder. The shirt he's wearing stains red, and he realizes he must have tore his wound open under the bandages. 

"Geralt!" he fumes. 

"Shut up, Jaskier. And get a move on. It's already dark, but if we take any longer we might never reach the hut. It’s hidden from humans, but we use it as refuge when trekking to the keep."

Jaskier doesn’t question him, he’s learnt not to do so after fights, when he’s in pain. But he does wonder to himself, whether or not it’s safe for him to try and walk into the mountain at night, so close to winter. He’s only human, after all… Geralt seems to notice his silence after they’ve been walking for a while, and the light from the improvised torch they’ve lit dances in his yellow eyes as he studies the bard. 

“We’re close,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Are you cold?”

“Yes,” Jaskier replies, because it’s the truth. He’s not quite shivering yet, they’re walking at a quick enough pace, but the night is closing more and more upon them. Geralt nods.

“Come on, let’s hurry. I’ll take you back to the town safely tomorrow, don’t worry.”

The ground is frozen in many places already, slippery in a way that’s scary when he can’t even _see_ the ground. He ends up plastering himself to Geralt’s side after a while, and the witcher doesn’t complain. By the time they reach the hut and manage to settle Roach into the small stable, Geralt is tired enough that he uses his magic to lit up the fireplace. They both groan as they sit down in front of it. Jaskier almost falls asleep right there, leaning against Geralt’s armor. But eventually he gets up, boils what little water they have in their packs and sets out to cleaning his wounds. Geralt follows him with his gaze, silent, but clearly with something in mind.

“They were insulting my home. Kaer Morhen is not a place for _monsters_ ,” he says, at length. It startles Jaskier so much he almost drops the clean bandage he’s wrapping around Geralt’s shoulder.

“I understand, Geralt.”

“I’m sorry I’ve dragged you here. They’re right, this isn’t a safe place for humans.”

“Forests at night usually aren’t. It’s alright, Geralt. I’m with you. And someone has to make sure you don’t keep overusing your injured shoulder, anyway.”

“Jaskier…”

“Don’t mention it, Geralt. I know I’ll have to go back tomorrow. Kaer Morhen isn’t home to monsters anymore than it is to humans, and I know how much it means to you to see your family. If you want, I can even walk back on my own… It should be much easier to do with some daylight.”

Geralt doesn’t answer again, but Jaskier isn’t expecting him to. 

They arrange the only bed to be close to the fire without running the risk of catching fire itself, and they do their best to fit together. They’ve been traveling together for long enough that they don’t have to ask, at this point. Jaskier wraps his arms around the witcher’s torso, Geralt lets him lean into his non-injured shoulder. He still smells of sweat, and horse, and dust, but after changing the bandages and shirt, he no longer smells of blood. It’s a smell Jaskier is intimately acquainted with by now, and he sighs happily, letting his muscles relax after the eventful evening.

“Kaer Morhen is my home, Jaskier,” Geralt says, as the fire dies slowly, leaving only hot embers behind. Jaskier isn’t sure if he’s really said it, or if he’s dreaming.

“Mmhm,” he answers.

“And it’s early enough that a human could reach it, considering the weather,” he continues. “I know you might have other commitments, Oxenfurt, and all…”

“Hmm?”

There’s no light anymore, and Jaskier can’t see Geralt. He wonders if Geralt’s kitty eyes are seeing him, as he raises his head out of the blankets he’d thrown around himself. He raises a hand to find Geralt’s chin, and accidentally gets his nose, his lips. He brushes his cheek, and feels Geralt exhale. 

“What are you saying?” he yawns. There’s something endearing in the way Geralt leans his head away from his hand, butting his forehead with Jaskier’s temple.

“You’ve shown me around Oxenfurt before. I can show you Kaer Morhen this year, if you’d like. But once we’re up there, you’d have to stay the rest of the winter. Think about it.”

That’s the last thing Geralt says, and Jaskier falls victim to sleep moments after. He wakes up still tangled in heavy furs, and Geralt’s unmistakable smell. He sits up with a jolt as he remembers his words, however, and Geralt groans as he sees Jaskier’s shit-eating grin. 

“It’s going to be a long winter…” he mumbles to himself, but Jaskier is too surprised and happy to care. He giggles, unable to help himself.

“Can I really?” he asks, breathless. “Can I really, Geralt?”

His companion levels a look at him, a mix between exasperated and fond that does all sorts of things to Jaskier’s butterflies. The sun is rising, and the cold rays of late autumn hit them both in the face as they wait for Geralt to confirm it.

“Kaer Morhen is not home to monsters,” Geralt repeats, tilting his head with a small smile. “Humans aren’t monsters, so yes, Jaskier, you can come with me.”

Jaskier has so many questions. So many questions, about Kaer Morhen, about Geralt’s relationship with the place, about the other witchers, his family. About Geralt’s motivation to invite him to his home, about what this _means_ for them. He looks at Geralt in wonder, at the tilt of his chin, at the way he’s also observing Jaskier. His breath catches in his lungs, the butterflies threaten to suffocate him. He can only smile, and hope that Geralt doesn’t freak out when it becomes obvious there are tears gathering in his eyes.

“I’d be honored,” is all he manages to say. He places a hand over Geralt’s before he can flee, the witcher’s eyes already widening in alarm. “I’d love to meet your home, Geralt.”

They’ll have time for questions. Right now, the furs are still warm, Geralt’s face still soft with sleep, and relief after hearing Jaskier’s answer. Mindful of the witcher’s injuries, he tackles him back into the pillow, and hugs him. 

It’s going to be a long winter, sure, and Jaskier doesn’t intend to miss any second of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed my story :D
> 
> If you did, please consider leaving kudos or a comment, they're greatly appreciated!
> 
> If you’d like to create related content based on my fic, please visit my profile for my blanket permission statement!
> 
> If you want to yell with me and share more headcanons for these dorks, you can find me at my tumblr, [kyokotsukuyomi](http://kyokotsukuyomi.tumblr.com/), the comments section down below, or any of the links in my profile. Don't be shy!
> 
> Love,
> 
> ~Lena


End file.
